


Fantasie-Impromptu

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/11004.html?thread=9698556#t9698556">here:</a> On what should be a routine explore away mission, the team is captured by some of the planet's residence who are angry the team is there. The team includes a young cadet scientist (the OFC). Gradually, Kirk is able to get the team released one by one by making various deals with the leader. All that's left are McCoy and this cadet. But the leader doesn't want any more goods/services from Kirk, he's got the ability to read minds and because he is more than a little sadistic, wants the cadet to reveal her biggest secret or he'll kill McCoy and then her. After much drama and angst she gives in. Her secret: she's been in love with McCoy the entire time she's known him.<br/>In the aftermath she is completely humiliated – the entire bridge crew heard her tearful confession and it has of course spread like wildfire throughout the ship. After days of avoiding him and not following up with an appointment following the ordeal like she'd been ordered – McCoy tracks her down and shows her how very flattered her admission made him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasie-Impromptu

**Author's Note:**

> There's another fic somewhere out in the universe--possibly not even this fandom--with the same title but as I can't even google it to find out what it is, it's safe to assume the two have nothing in common. It's also the title of [a piece by Chopin](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvm2ZsRv3C8).

"Bones," Jim Kirk said, over his beer, "that little ensign is head-over-heels for you."

McCoy scowled. "Which little ensign? The ship's positively crawling with 'em." They were in the bar with the best bourbon on Starbase 6, which wasn't saying much 'cause the bourbon was pretty much crap.

"The one who's pretending that she's watching Jarvis dance with Cathcart—what's going on with them, by the way?"

McCoy shrugged. "Probably exactly what you think." He followed Jim's head-jerk over to see who he was talking about, and groaned. "No, she isn't. I'm pretty sure she's thinking about getting in the middle of an Ally-Dana sandwich."

Jim tilted his head to one side and sighed. "Ah, good image. But anyway, no; she keeps sneaking looks at you, Bones."

"It's probably you, then." It was coming up on four years of seeing how women, men, and beings of indeterminate gender reacted to the legendary (in his own mind, at least) Kirk charm; McCoy was pretty sure he knew the signs by now.

"Maybe," Jim said. "Or maybe she's thinking about getting in the middle of a Bones-Jim sandwich."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Not gonna happen."

"No, listen: a Bones-Ally-Dana-Jim sandwich, with or without bonus ensign. What do you say?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and finished his drink in one gulp. "I say you're an omnisexual horndog. And by the way, from what I hear from Cathcart talking to Chapel, Allison Jarvis only _looks_ sweet and innocent."

"They talk?" Jim's eyes grew wide. "Man, next time they talk about that stuff, tell me! I'll, uh, I don't know, eat a strawberry or something."

McCoy punched Jim in the shoulder. "No, you won't. Do you even know her name?"

"What, Ensign Bonus? I've had too many beers to remember. She's a scientist, though. Biology, or something."

McCoy looked over at the ensign again. She was small, brunette; he thought she was probably twenty-two at the oldest. Way too young for him.

* * *

A couple weeks later, he walked into Sickbay, half an hour early for his shift, and saw Ensign Bonus (as he still thought of her, although Jim said her name was Benscoter) sitting on a biobed talking to Cathcart. When she saw him come in, her eyes—blue, he noted absently—widened and she hopped off the bed, scurrying out past him without a word. McCoy blinked, and asked Cathcart, "What's her name?"

"Benscoter," she said, tapping on her padd. "Ensign Lianne Benscoter."

Well, Jim was right about her name, at least. Poor thing was probably afraid of him, or she was in to ask Cathcart about some sort of gynecological question. "What does she do around here?"

"She's a biomechanical engineer," Dana said. "Why?"

McCoy shrugged. "I don't remember seeing her around here very often."

"Well, unlike the rest of the biology and engineering departments, she knows to get out of the way of plasma and unknown contaminants."

He chuckled. "Good for her."

* * *

McCoy shouldn't have been surprised at all when Ensign Benscoter showed up on the next away mission, what with how she'd been randomly appearing for the last month or so. It was supposed to be a routine away mission, the ensign there as science officer-in-training, but as luck would have it when Jim was around, things got all fucked up from the get-go.

The coordinates they were given for the beam-down set them right inside a chamber; the minute they all materialized, some sort of blue shield covered the room, and their comms pinged with the 'lost-signal' noise. All five of them—himself, Jim, Uhura, Benscoter, and a security officer named Hasse—were immediately restrained by the planet's natives, large, vaguely reptilian creatures with grayish-purple skin and leathery neck-ruffs who called themselves the Gltazi, or something that sounded like that.

"Well, now, Captain James T. Kirk. We have you where we want you, and _now_ we can negotiate."

Jim struggled against his captor as he said, "You realize this could be construed as an act of war upon the Federation."

"SILENCE!" the leader of the Gltazi roared. McCoy's captor put one hand over his mouth, and he almost gagged at the unfamiliar smell and taste.

Four long, horrific hours later, Jim Kirk's silver tongue had gotten Hasse and Uhura released, as well as Jim himself, without signing over the _Enterprise_. McCoy had decided, after about ten minutes of listening to Jim negotiate, that somehow the captain knew exactly what he was doing, and it would be suicide to interrupt. Also, although his captor had removed xer hand hours ago, he could still taste the Gltazi's skin and was fairly certain that if he spoke, he'd be silenced again.

"And for the last two," the leader, who answered to Fllk, said, stalking around McCoy's side, "I think there is nothing you can offer me, Captain James T. Kirk."

"Well, that's unfortunate," Jim said. "Benscoter there is a fine science officer. I'd really love to have her back on the ship." McCoy could tell he was getting punchy, but willed him not to get so punchy that he got the three of them _killed._

"And the less-short one, is he not your Chief Medical Officer?"

Jim shrugged, but the Gltazi already knew the truth.

"He is invaluable to you."

"He's a good surgeon."

"And a good friend."

"Yep," Jim said.

"And perhaps more than that."

Jim shrugged again. "He's pretty good in the sack."

True, but _Jim_ certainly had no reason to know that. What in hell was he gambling? Jim and Fllk both looked at him, and he attempted to school his features into something resembling fondness for Jim, rather than exasperation. He also thought very hard about what Jim looked like naked, just in case the Gltazi decided to go for his brain. Unfortunately, they'd been roommates, so he actually knew.

"Hmmm," Fllk said. "I believe I know what could convince me to release these two."

"And what might that be?" Jim asked.

Fllk turned to Ensign Benscoter. "Ensign Lianne Benscoter, we will release you and Doctor Leonard McCoy if you will reveal to all present your most deeply-held secret."

Benscoter's eyes widened. "I—what?" she said.

The Gltazi stared right at her. "You know which secret. Confess it aloud, and all will be free to go."

Benscoter turned to Jim. "Captain—"

"Ensign, I promise complete amnesty for anything you may or may not say in the next few minutes. Also selective amnesia." In a quieter tone, he said, "And if you still can't, then don't, and we'll see what we can do."

"Nothing, Captain James T. Kirk," Fllk said. "You could offer me the presidency of the Federation and I would not accept. It is Ensign Lianne Benscoter's confession or death for your ensign and your chief medical officer."

"Well, shit," Jim said.

A tear slid down Benscoter's cheek, and she swiped angrily at it. "Captain, I'll be putting in for a transfer immediately after we get back."

"We'll see if it's necessary, Ensign," he said. "I won't listen, McCoy won't listen, and we certainly won't judge."

"Oh yes you will," she said under her breath.

"Captain James T. Kirk, you and Doctor Leonard McCoy are absolutely required to listen to Ensign Lianne Benscoter's confession, or there is no deal."

"Shit," Jim said, and McCoy agreed.

"Don't make me do this," Benscoter said to the Gltazi. "Please." She'd started crying in earnest, McCoy saw.

"You have no choice."

Benscoter closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She opened them, looked at Jim, and said, "Complete amnesty and selective amnesia and a transfer, right?"

"Whatever you need, Lianne," Jim said, and McCoy nodded, but she wasn't looking anywhere near him.

"You're sadistic bastards, you know that?" she said to the Gltazi. "I had a career that I liked on a ship that I love, and you've fucked that all up."

McCoy smiled at her guts, but wondered what in hell the secret was that would essentially ruin her life.

She swallowed, tipped her chin up, stared straight at Fllk, and said, in clear, ringing tones (or maybe they just rang in McCoy's ears), "I've been in love with Dr. McCoy since the moment I met him."

The Gltazi hissed in laughter and took down the shield; Jim yelled, "Scotty, get us out of here," and McCoy felt the twisting transporter sensation before he could so much as process Ensign Benscoter's words.

The moment they reappeared on the transporter pad, Benscoter ran out of the room without looking back. Jim and McCoy exchanged a look. "My ready room," Jim said, and McCoy nodded and followed him.

"Captain," Scotty called after them. Jim turned. "The Gltazi piped the ensign's confession through the shipwide announcement system."

"So everyone heard," Jim said. "Shit." He flipped open his comm. "Kirk to Cathcart or Jarvis."

"Cathcart here."

"Go keep an eye on Ensign Benscoter for me, will you? She's probably headed for her quarters."

"Yes, sir. Cathcart out."

McCoy and Jim left the transporter room and got in the turbolift, heading for the ready room. Once the doors had closed, Jim said, "Shit, I didn't know it was going to be that embarrassing for her."

McCoy said, "I don't think I'm allowed to say anything at this point." The doors hissed open, and they walked down the hallway to the ready room, entered, and sat down.

"You really aren't," Jim said, drumming his fingers on the table. "I suppose I'll have to approve her request for a transfer."

"You probably should," McCoy agreed.

"What are you thinking right now?" Jim asked suddenly.

McCoy frowned. "What?"

"No, seriously. If you'd found out about Benscoter's feelings in another context, what would you have done?"

"I don't know," he said. "Christ, she's ten years younger than I am, or something."

"Six," Jim said. "She's twenty-six. My age. Doctorate in biomechanical engineering. Smart as a whip. Born and raised in Toronto; started at Ryerson but transferred to MIT halfway through her undergrad. Finished the master's there; got the doctorate from Starfleet Academy."

"How do you know all that?"

"I talked to her." Jim shrugged again.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Nothing," he said. "I just think . . . maybe, if you'd found this out somehow other than a forced confession by an alien, that you'd like her, and maybe I wouldn't have to sign the transfer papers."

McCoy sat back in his chair. "Jim, if you're trying to get me to date her so you don't have to do paperwork—"

"Jesus, Bones, what kind of person do you think I am? No. Sheesh." Jim stood up and started pacing. "I had kind of a suspicion months ago that she might be attracted to you, and I've been trying to push you in her direction ever since. And now I'm trying to figure out if I can clean this mess up and still have both of you be happy."

"You think I'd be happy with her?"

"Maybe. I don't know. She talks about nanites the way you talk about space parasites. It's creepy sometimes. Look, we won't be at a starbase for—" Jim checked the console "—probably another four or five days. Give her a day or so, and then talk to her? For me?"

"Jim, the puppy-dog eyes don't work on me." He sighed. "But I'll try. If she tells me to go to hell, though, I'm done."

"Thanks, Bones." Jim grinned. "I really hate paperwork."

McCoy rolled his eyes.

* * *

Two days later, McCoy had successfully avoided doing as Jim asked and was going over reports when he noticed that Benscoter had never come in for her post-away-mission assessment. _Shit._ "Nurse Cathcart," he called.

"Sir?" Dana poked her head out of the supply cabinet.

"Go chase down Ensign Benscoter and go over her with a tricorder, would you? She never came in after the away mission."

"No," Cathcart said.

"Excuse me?" McCoy swiveled his chair to pin her with a glare.

Unfortunately, just like Chapel, she was immune. The head nurse must be giving lessons, he thought irrelevantly. "Go find her yourself, Dr. McCoy. She's been avoiding me as well."

"Nurse Cathcart, it would be highly inappropriate for me to go find Ensign Benscoter, considering what the hell just happened."

"Considering what the hell just happened, _sir_ , it appears to me that you absolutely must go talk to her."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Also, I believe you promised the captain that you'd talk to her."

He groaned. "Not you, too."

Cathcart gazed at him calmly.

"All right, all right." He glanced at the chrono. "I'm off shift in an hour. I'll go then."

"Good, sir." Dana went back to the supply cabinet, and McCoy went back to his reports.

* * *

An hour and twenty minutes later, McCoy stood in front of Benscoter's door and stared, trying to get up the willpower to send a hail. What on earth was he getting himself into? He touched his fingers to the annunciator before he could change his mind.

"Who is it?" Benscoter's voice came through the speaker, a bit tinnily.

"Uh, it's Dr. McCoy," he said.

"Please go away, Dr. McCoy," she said.

"Ensign, you never did report for your post-away-mission assessment."

"Cathcart attacked me with a tricorder right after we got back. I'm fine. Please leave me alone, Doctor." She sniffed.

 _Shit, shit, shit._ She was crying, and it was his fault. "Ensign—Lianne—"

"Don't call me that," she said, her voice much sharper than it had been before.

"Fine. Ensign Benscoter, I'd like to talk with you, please."

"We don't have anything to discuss, Dr. McCoy. I've been asking you to leave for several minutes now. Please, just go away and leave me alone. I'll be off the ship in two more days and you can go back to not knowing that I exist." He heard her sniffle again.

"Jim tells me you like nanites," he said by way of reply.

"What?" The door slid open, and there she stood, red-eyed and red-nosed, wearing Starfleet-issued pajama bottoms and an MIT t-shirt, her hair up in a messy bun. "You want to talk about _nanites_?"

"No, I don't want to talk about nanites," he said. "Unless you want to talk about nanites. I'm trying to make sure you're okay. Also, Jim ordered me to talk to you." _Damn, that was a stupid thing to say._

"Oh, so you're here because the captain ordered you to be here. Look, Dr. McCoy, I don't need your pity, or Captain Kirk's, or any sort of stupid misguided notions of being a Southern gentleman or anything like that. I'm going to get off this ship and go somewhere where you aren't, and where I can be a biomech instead of 'that little ensign who's too big for her britches,' okay? Tell Captain James T. Kirk that, and go back to him and your sickbay." She turned and walked away.

McCoy blinked, and stuck a foot in the door before it closed. "Ensign, Jim and I aren't together."

"It doesn't matter," she said, voice thick again.

"No, it really does," he said. "The Gltazi have really strong family bonds. Jim was gambling on that, and hoping that if they thought he and I were involved, they'd let me go and he'd just have to save you with some blaze of glory."

That got a watery chuckle out of her.

"Can I come in, Ensign?"

"You might as well," she said, still facing the window.

He entered her room and let the door shut behind him, but didn't move any further into her space, acutely aware of the power differential. "I won't ask how you've been, because that's obvious."

"Yeah, well," she said. An awkward moment of silence passed, and she turned around. "I'm sorry."

" _You're_ sorry?" he asked. Her eyes were startlingly blue against the red, darker than Jim's but still bright.

"I'm sorry for putting you in this position," she said. "I'm sorry you're going to have to deal with jokes about me long after I leave. I'm sorry Captain Kirk made you come by and talk to me. And I'm sorry I'm being insubordinate, Lieutenant Commander."

"No one's going to make jokes about you," McCoy said. "If anyone does, they'll have to answer to me. Or Jim. And please don't call me Lieutenant Commander; I'm a doctor, not a military rank."

She smiled at that. She was really very pretty when she wasn't falling apart, he thought. And frankly, she'd taken up residence in the back of his brain weeks ago—difficult to admit, but true. "I knew you existed," he said.

"What?" she said, and furrowed her brow.

"I knew you existed," he repeated. "Starbase 6, five weeks ago; you were watching me, but pretending you were watching Cathcart and Jarvis."

"Everyone was watching Dana and Ally," Benscoter said evasively.

"When was the first time we met?" McCoy asked.

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Four years ago, at my intake appointment for the Academy."

"Oh," he said. "I don't remember that. I did a lot of those."

"I know," she said. "Don't worry about it."

"So why did you remember me?" He was playing with fire here, he knew.

She shot him a sidelong glance. "Have you looked in the mirror ever?" He shrugged—he'd never seen it, although he'd been told a time or two—and she continued. "And in the middle of my appointment, there was an emergency—I think a shuttle had crashed. And even though I figured out later that you were a first-year, barely older than me, you were calling out instructions to the other nurses and doctors. You were—" she shrugged. "Competent. And then you showed up in my Intro to Communications section, and argued with the professors, and I kept trying to get the guts to go talk to you, but I never did."

McCoy vaguely remembered the shuttle crash—he'd been there maybe two weeks at the time—and he almost remembered having a patient at the time, but he didn't remember her, unfortunately. He also didn't remember much about his Intro to Communications class. It must have shown on his face, because she said, "It's okay that you don't remember me. You were friends with Jim Kirk—you were a rock star on campus. I was—not."

A rock star. He snorted. "I'm a washed-up, bitter divorcé. You're a fresh-faced biomech who's going places. The idea that you find me attractive is laughable—and not for the reason you think."

"It's not laughable because you're the CMO of a starship and I'm an ensign? It's not laughable because you're the captain's best friend and the only reason Captain Kirk knows my name is because he knows _everyone's_ name? It's not laughable because you're the surgeon who saved Admiral Pike's life and I just play with nanites in a lab all day? It's not laughable because you had no idea who I was a month ago and I've been—pining—for years?" She laughed. "No, Dr. McCoy, I think it's laughable for all those reasons and more."

"You really don't think all that highly of yourself, do you?" he said.

"I could say the same about you," she shot back.

McCoy was startled into a laugh at that. "Come here," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I'd very much like to kiss you," he said, "if you don't mind, and maybe we can see if all this heat's going to spark or not."

"I should say no," she said, and hesitated. "But I'm not going to."

A moment later, she was in his arms and his lips were on hers. They broke apart a minute or five later, and he said, "As good as you imagined?"

"Better, damnit," she said, and pulled him down for another kiss. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and he dropped one hand to the small of her back to pull her more firmly against him.

"Whoa," she said this time, and took half a step away. "You—" She glanced down at where his erection was straining against his fly.

"That _is_ the normal reaction when kissing a beautiful woman," he said, his lips quirking.

"I know, but—oh, never mind." She flattened herself against him again, rubbing like a cat as she kissed him with all she had.

He groaned, wrapped his arms under her rear end, and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around him and held on. He took a step towards her bunk, but stopped, broke the kiss, and said, "Is this okay?"

"You're in the middle of making all my best fantasies come true and you're asking if it's okay?" she said. "God, I think I want you _more_." She kissed him again, nipping his lower lip.

"Lianne, focus on me for a minute," he said. She stopped and looked at him. "My last STI screen came back clean and I haven't been with anyone since. My last hypo was two months ago and I get the six-month kind. What about you?"

"I have the five-year implant," she said, "and I've still got two years left. My last screen was two weeks ago and it was perfectly clean, and I haven't—" She buried her face in his shoulder. "It's been a while."

"That's fine," he said. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, please," she said, still into his shoulder. "If you do."

"Darlin'," he said, walking over to the bed and lying her flat on it, "now that I've got a hold of you, what makes you think I'm gonna let you go?" He lay down next to her and found her lips again.

"Oh, God, fantasy number three," she said, in between kisses, and he grinned.

"What are one and two?" he asked.

She looked at him. "You kissing me, and then picking me up and throwing me on my bunk," she said. "Or your bunk. I'm not picky." She grinned.

He laughed. "And three was—"

"'Darlin','" she said, blushing.

"What's number four?"

"You naked," she said, tugging on the hem of his shirt. He sat up, stripped off both the tunic and undershirt, and threw them on the floor.

Lianne's hands were on him before he could lie back down, stroking his collarbone, tracing his abdominal muscles, running a thumb over his nipples. He leaned in to kiss her, but stopped just short of her lips and asked, "What's number five?"

"Oh, no," she said. "That's only half of number four." She looked up at him impishly.

McCoy gave an exaggerated sigh, stood up, and shucked off the rest of his clothes in record time before crawling back onto the bunk and pulling her against him. They kissed, tongues tangling, and she slid a hand down over his hip, stroking the hollow there with her thumb. "Do I

get to have any fantasies?" he asked, voice strained.

"As long as they're about me," she said, cupping his rear end. "Oh, wow."

"I'm glad you like it," he said. "And my first fantasy is you naked."

"I can make that one happen." She sat up, rolled over him, and stood next to the bed. Crossing her arms in front of her, she pulled off the t-shirt in one smooth motion, revealing that she hadn't worn a bra under it. McCoy's mouth went dry, and he swallowed reflexively. She grinned wickedly, and hooked her thumbs into her waistband, sliding her pajama bottoms down slowly enough that it took him a moment to realize she hadn't been wearing underwear, either.

When she was fully nude, he gave her the mother of all once-overs, which made her giggle, and reached out to hook her around the waist and drag her back to bed. "Fantasy number two," he said, settling her on top of him, and she sat back on her heels.

She was perhaps curvier than he'd expected; narrow waist, muscular hips and thighs, and round breasts. He traced her quadriceps with his fingers, and she said, "Bikram yoga." Which made no sense to him at all, but he nodded anyway.

He followed the muscles in her legs up to her hips, and she wriggled back and forth until he gasped. Grasping her hips tightly, he said, "Hold still, darlin'; I've got a lot more fantasizing to do." At her raised eyebrow, he said, "I would love it if you would ride me, but I also want to taste you, and explore those lovely breasts of yours."

She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Oh, God."

"No, just Leonard. Or Len." She wrinkled her nose at him. _God help me, she's adorable and smart and sexy as hell. What have I gotten myself into?_ "How long is your hair?" he asked.

"Long enough that if you want me on top, I should probably leave it up," she said, indicating a point above her breasts but below her shoulders. "I can take it down later."

"I would like that very much," he said, and encircled her waist with his hands, digging his fingers in lightly. She inhaled sharply, and watched him carefully as he slid his hands up to cup her breasts. "Oh, _perfect_ ," he said, flexing his fingers.

Lianne squirmed. "They're just breasts," she said.

"Oh, you think so?" McCoy said, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. She gasped, and he smiled. Dropping his hands to her hips, he reversed their positions with a quick roll, and opened his mouth to take in as much of her left breast as he could. He added suction, and she gasped again, grabbing his head and clenching her hands in his hair. Soon she was pulling his head up to hers and kissing him fiercely; he gave back everything and then some, angling his mouth to get more. She ended the kiss, gasping, but nibbled the tendon on the side of his neck, causing him to shudder, and then sucked bruises into his shoulder.

He pulled away from her mouth, still shivering, and dropped his head to her right breast, swirling his tongue around her nipple until it pebbled, and then sucking. She gasped again and said, "Too much, too much," and he pulled back, kissing her collarbone gently.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's fine," she replied, stroking one hand down his back. "Kiss me?"

"Gladly," he said, kissing her lips briefly—but then kissed down the side of her neck, between her breasts, over her abdomen to her navel, along one hip and then the other, and finally settled himself between her legs and pressed his mouth to her clit.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, God, _Leonard_." He smiled, traced circles with his tongue, and sucked. She fell apart under his hands and mouth, squirming and calling his name like she'd just discovered it, and finally coming, shuddering and shaking, against his lips.

"Ohhh," Lianne said on a slow exhale, and he rubbed his face against her, making her jump and giggle. She tapped his shoulder. "C'mere, you."

"Of course," he said, and slid slowly over her body until his face was level with hers and his cock was pressed against her. "Hey there, darlin'."

"Oh, now you're just doing it on purpose," she said, shivering. "You can call me other things, too, like 'sweetheart' or 'dear' or 'honey' or even 'Lianne.'"

"You're thinkin' too much, Lianne," he said, and watched her eyes squeeze shut as he said her name. "Any other fantasies I can help with?"

"Make love to me?" she said, and his heart clenched. "Or fuck me into the mattress. I don't care at this point. Just—"She hitched her knees up into the air and wrapped a leg around the back of his. "I want you inside me. Please."

"Oh, God, Lianne," he said, burying his face in the side of her neck. One hand worked its way between them to touch her—she was hot and slick and _definitely_ ready—and then to line himself up, and he pushed himself up on his forearms to watch her face as he slid inside.

It was worth it; her lips parted on a gasp and her eyes closed as she arched under him. When he hit home, he said, "Fast, slow?"

"You pick," she said. "Fast, slow, me on top, you on top, on the bed, on the floor, on your desk, on my desk, on the captain's fucking _chair_ \--it all sounds great right now."

"The captain's chair?" McCoy said, frowning.

"With you, not with _him_ ," she said. "Move, please?"

"Anything you wish," he said, and rolled so she was on top of him. She squeaked, and it was so adorable he had to smile. He guided her hips up and down until she caught the rhythm and continued on her own, the muscles in her thighs flexing. He let his fingers drift over them. _Damn, that's hot._ Watching her breasts for a moment, he looked at her face; she was half smiling at him. "They are not just breasts," he said. "They're magnificent."

"If you can think of the word magnificent, I'm not doing my job," she said, and picked up the pace.

He threw his head back and groaned. "Oh, Lianne." She gasped and tightened around him, so he found her clit and circled it with his thumb. "You are so beautiful, darlin'. Come for me, sweetheart. I want to see you finish above me."

A moment later, she arched her back and soared, coming down to rest against his chest with a heartfelt, "Oh, God." He ran a hand down her back soothingly and kissed her temple.

When she propped herself up to look at him, he smiled, and reversed their positions yet again, coaxing another surprised squeak from her. "More?" he asked, and she nodded vigorously. Pinning her hands with his, he said, "This okay?" She nodded again. "Legs up." As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he pulled back, and then snapped his hips forward. She gasped again. "Good, or too much?"

"Good, good," she said, panting. "Don't stop!"

"I won't, then." And he didn't, not until she strained against his hands and peaked again.

"Damn," she said, when she'd recovered enough to speak.

"Good?"

"What do you think?" She surged upward and kissed him. "What about you? You didn't—"

"No, I didn't," he agreed. "Those were for you. This time's for me."

"Jesus, what are you, like, a sex god or something?" she said, but she was grinning.

"No," McCoy said with a laugh, "just not in my twenties anymore." He shifted so his arms were under hers, his hands cradling her head. He took her lips again, kissing her thoroughly, and rolled his hips, setting up a deep, slow motion that he knew would drive both of them mad.

He kept it up, winding both of them tighter and tighter until she broke the kiss to sob his name and beg him for _more, harder, faster_. Sliding one hand between them, he found her clit and said, "Lianne, honey, I'm so close, can you come for me again? One more time, sweetheart, and I'll pour myself into you."

She tightened around him, arching her back again and crying out his name. He let go, finally, and a thrust or two later, hit his climax with a groan.

Once he'd remembered how to breathe, he shifted to roll off of her, but she tightened her arms and legs around him and said, "Stay for a moment." Her voice sounded strange, but it took him another minute or so to realize that her deep shudders weren't aftershocks from her last orgasm. "Oh, Lianne," he said, withdrawing. She curled into a fetal position, facing away from him, still shaking, and he pressed himself to her back, spooning her.

"Did I hurt you?" She didn't answer, which was fine since it was a stupid question. "Did I hurt you physically?" he asked, running his fingertips over her hip. She shook her head. He slid an arm around her waist and held her. He hadn't had to deal with a woman crying after sex since Jocelyn had been pregnant, and he really wasn't entirely sure what to do. He kissed the nape of her neck and stroked her arm, waiting.

"You can go now," she said into the pillow.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

"No," she said, voice still muffled, "but it would probably be better that way."

"Why?" he asked.

"'Cause I'm probably just going to cry until I fall asleep," she said.

"Oh, Lianne, honey," he said. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

She rolled over, gave him a look, and said, "No! It was amazing and you know it. It was better than I possibly could have imagined, and now I have to live with the consequences." She turned back to face the wall and sniffled.

"What consequences?" he asked, confused.

"What, you think there's a Leonard McCoy on every ship in the 'fleet?" she said, a mocking edge to her tone.

"There probably is," he said, "but why would you need more than one of me?"

Lianne sat up and turned to look at him again. "I can't have you," she said, like she was explaining to a six-year-old. "You're top-shelf liquor and I can only afford rail drinks. And I'm going to be gone in two days."

"You're still leaving?" he said.

"Yes, what, do you think so highly of yourself that one night with you would fix everything?" She was lashing out now, he knew, and what stung wasn't so much her words but how she'd apparently misinterpreted everything.

"What made you think this was one night?" he said, keeping his voice even. Before she could say anything else, he held up a hand. "Look, I'm not saying I fell head over heels in love with you in the last couple hours, but you're beautiful, bright, and a firecracker in bed, and I'm really interested to see where this is going."

"What?" she said. "No, no, no, no, don't _do_ this to me." She buried her face in her hands. "Stop being perfect!"

McCoy laughed, and pulled her back into his arms. "I'm staying, you're staying, we'll be seeing each other, and you'll get to discover the million and one ways in which I am not perfect. Other than the bourbon and the ex-wife and the eleven-year-old daughter and the fact that my best friend is an adrenaline junkie who's going to get us all killed sooner or later." He pulled the hair band out of her hair carefully and finger-combed it until it fell around her shoulders, slipping through his fingers. She sighed, and leaned into him. "People are going to talk, Lianne darlin'. It's not that big a ship."

"I know," she said. "But I think if I'm getting laid regularly I'll be able to handle it."

He smiled, leaned in, and kissed her nose. "I can help with that."

"I got one way you're not perfect already," she grumbled, after a kiss or ten.

"What's that?"

"You're making me sleep in the wet spot," she said.

He laughed, shifted over a few inches, and settled her more firmly into his arms for the night.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chocolate Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/193943) by [circ_bamboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo)




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